Mittwoch, 27. März 2013
Freitag, 22. März 2013
Donnerstag, 7. März 2013
I liked everything about that trip: being outside all day, sand in every wedge, my hair smelling of smoke from the campfires, warm beer from litre bottles - but I didn´t get that one thing. Why the HELL would someone be in the water for hours? What was it about surfing that made that guy come out of the water being in a Dalai-Lama-kind-of-mind?
One day it was flat. We were hanging out on the very end of Playa de Guerra even behind the tiny tip of coast that ends the beach naturally. The water was crystal clear, turquoise and sleek as Murano glass; it felt like a millionaire’s vacation in the Caribean. Tide comes up there fast and we missed the moment of leaving the cove in time. There was no way out unless we climbed up the cliff that was far to steep to make it out there safely. So we decided we had to swim around the point. While Nils was taking all our stuff he passed on his board to me and told me to paddle it home.
So there I was – lying on a toothpick of a board trying to paddle straight. And I constantly fell off. I tried to sit on the board as I had seen it on the other guys waiting behind the line-up. And fell off. But I had fun. So the next day I urged Nils to give me another board so I could go out with a board again. So he gave me his shabby minimal and I played in the soup for some days.
This changed everything.
I didn´t get up. No one told me how to do a take-off. I didn´t ride a wave at all. I was just playing in the ocean. But something happened that never happened before. I did not think. I – the intellectual, the bookseller, the sociologist – I did not think anymore while I was bathing in the shorebreak with that ugly dog. I didn´t know anymore why I was doing all the things I did before. Why was I studying? Why was I trying so hard? Did I really wanna be part of that game everyone was playing?
I didn´t. I bought a VW T3, stole two old boards from my universities surf club and took some months off to drive up the Atlantic Coast from Tarifa in Spain through Portugal and Spain again to Brest in France.
This is the life I want to life.
Now I do understand. Surfing makes life worth living.
|I want no house. Home is where the waves are. Yeah. This is flat. Fuck it.|